Birthday Surprise
by lostcowgirl
Summary: Kitty performs a service a few days prior to her birthday leading to events that reverberate more than 20 years later. The main story is set in season 2 before Kitty bought into the Long Branch at a time when she still partially earned a living in a way she wanted to leave behind & Matt could say she's known many men. Also realize Matt will act unusually for Kitty.


Birthday Surprise

Kitty Russell sauntered down the stairs into the nearly deserted barroom. The lack of a crowd was expected. Not many travelers, no matter the distance, were willing to brave the often-harsh February weather common to the high plains. Gazing at the few stragglers sprawled throughout the saloon, she sighed. Dodge City was manifesting all the characteristics that made her want to continue with her journey west the morning of her arrival in November 1866. Considering the reason for her remaining's attitude toward relationships she wondered why she hadn't gotten back on that stage a couple months more than two years ago. They were together, but more often than not, they might as well be apart.

"There's always the next stage or train out," she thought as she made her way to the bar. She avoided the main part of the room, remaining close to the wall supporting the upstairs landing that doubled as a balcony. Her path brought her close to a table affording both privacy and a view of everyone, patrons and employees alike. As she passed this particular table its lone occupant, a man sitting where he could best take advantage of the table's assets, grabbed hold of her wrist hard enough to make her halt.

"What can I do for you, mister?" she asked turning toward him.

"My, you're a pretty young thing," the man of no more than 25 said with a smile on his handsome face. "If you fetch us a bottle of brandy, Napoleon if this establishment stocks it, and a pair of snifters, I'll tell you what I have in mind."

Kitty surveyed her first customer of what to her was still morning, but was in actuality closer to midafternoon, while her boss Bill Pence fetched the requested bottle. From his attire and his spirit preference the man was no gambler or nouveau riche frontier businessman. At the same time his slim, far from athletic build and un-calloused hands belied any belief he was wearing his Sunday best. His appearance awakened memories. He reminded the soon to be 22-year-old saloon girl of relatives from France visiting the elite families of her native New Orleans.

If her life had taken a different turn Kathleen Marguerite Russell would have married into one of those high society families. Instead she'd been forced while still a girl into giving her body to men in order to survive. Until recently it hadn't been men of her choosing or for her personal profit. Now she was close, thanks to the business and gambling skills she'd been taught along the way, to having as much control over her own destiny as any woman could in this man's world. Meanwhile, hustling drinks and poker skills alone couldn't raise the money fast enough to suit her. If she took too long Bill might change his mind about making her a full partner in the Long Branch no matter how much she managed to accumulate. That would scuttle her plans to turn the best saloon in Dodge City into the finest establishment for entertaining men between St. Louis and San Francisco.

With bottle and glasses on a tray carried at shoulder height Kitty continued to assess the man who'd ordered it as she sashayed invitingly toward where he remained seated watching her. She could see the smile her movements brought to the oval face framed by a well-coifed array of nearly black curls and equally dark mustache and goatee on what she guessed was a six-foot body. Based on what he'd ordered, he had money and breeding. She considered acquiescing to a turn upstairs and then coaxing him into a high stakes poker game later tonight.

"Ah, you're back with something to sip with enjoyment while we get better acquainted. I first noticed your exquisite form and luscious shade of red hair when you rounded the corner of the stairs. Closer examination only confirmed my initial impression. Of course, if the nature of your employment is merely to encourage men to purchase strong drink, I'm willing to chat amiably and get to know you better. However, I do intend to charm you into accepting something more intimate. Certainly, quite a bit of money will serve to sweeten the pot, so to speak. Let's begin with exchanging names and revealing a bit about each other."

Within 15 minutes and a single snifter each of the brandy Kitty knew Martin Gastin's paternal forebears came to New Orleans from France. His father attended Tulane rather than sail to Paris to study at the Sorbonne. The local school was founded ten years earlier as a medical college in attempt to curb the devastation wrought by disease in a city continuously in danger of being overrun by water. It was while enrolled at Tulane that Gastin senior met Martin's mother, a society girl of Scotch-Irish ancestry, at a formal ball. After marrying, the couple elected to improve upon their joint family fortunes upriver in St. Louis. They succeeded. Thus, his parents could well afford to send their oldest child to Paris to stay with relatives while furthering his education. All Kitty revealed was her New Orleans parentage was a reversal of his, leading to a loss rather than an increase in fortunes that forced her, a soiled dove, into the world's oldest profession. Eventually her occupation led to her current employment in Dodge City.

"Miss Kitty," Gastin stated, now that he was certain his initial impression as to how she earned her living was correct. "I mean to pay you handsomely if you'll agree to take me to your allotted room upstairs. I'll explain my exact needs and desires in detail once we're behind closed doors. I warn you what I have in mind will take far more than the usual 15 minutes."

"How much time? At what rate?" Kitty queried, intrigued yet not quite ready to accept.

"I propose $5 per hour no matter how much of that hour is actually spent transacting my business with you behind a locked door."

"That's a considerable sum. However, there are certain things I won't do no matter how much you offer. And mister, don't think I won't keep the money then kick you out if you try anything I deem out of bounds. That means my room key remains within easy reach of me, not you."

"Your conditions are acceptable since nothing I propose will physically harm you. It's simply unusual. Now, may we continue our negotiations upstairs?"

"Give me a minute," Kitty replied catching Matt Dillon's eye as he entered the room. "I want to make arrangements for later with the man who just entered."

Martin Gastin watched the interaction between the delectable redhead and the tall, well-built man with a gun, whose purpose for entering the saloon was to interact with the slender yet well-endowed woman. He'd no doubt the man, who was at least a good six inches taller, could handle both him and the weapon at his side, a skill Martin decidedly lacked, if need be.

Their conversation apparently finished, the intimidating man, clad, not surprisingly, considering the greatest source of income for this growing town, like a cowboy, turned on his boot heel and left. At least the beautiful saloon girl hadn't departed with him. However, Gastin couldn't help but notice the nearly imperceptible nod the big man gave the slender girl before each turned away from the other. He observed such details.

Although she still wasn't certain, Kitty allowed Martin to escort her upstairs. The money would go a long way toward her becoming a partner in the Long Branch before Bill changed his mind. As an owner she could stop selling her body and reserve it for the one man who mattered. She'd made arrangements to meet Matt for a very early supper at six so she'd be back in time to hustle what customers there were into buying drinks until she was scheduled to deal poker at eight. It was now four. She hoped she could handle whatever occurred within the next two hours.

"I need you nude, but with a revealing negligee in a shade of blue to match your eyes – something shear and short. I'm sure you have such a garment within your wardrobe. You may disrobe either in front of me or behind that screen in the corner. Your nakedness is what's important for what I've in mind."

Kitty, still uncertain, chose the screen. She had a small pistol back there that she could hide beneath the folds of the garment he wanted. If she held the gun just so, Martin wouldn't see it, but it would be easy to put to use quickly if need be. She emerged holding her flimsy garment in front of her pubic area with her right hand clasping it as well as the hidden weapon and her key. She'd heard movement while disrobing and so expected to find her client at least partially disrobed. He wasn't. What she'd heard was him unfolding the pieces of wood he carried upstairs tucked under his right arm while his left arm was wrapped around her waist. He'd also placed the small rectangular case he'd held in his right hand on a handy table and begun removing its contents.

"The negligee's placement isn't quite right, but we can make adjustments once you're properly situated. The fading light from the window, combined with the glow from the lamp on your bedside table is just right if I can get you positioned before everything changes," Gastin concluded confirming Kitty's realization that he considered himself an artist.

"If all you want is to paint me in the nude, why couldn't you have said that downstairs? What comes later?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, except more sittings," he replied. "I'll need to be even more certain to get the light in relation to your position and coloring exactly right when I begin painting in earnest."

"If that's the case, I'd rather leave the door unlocked. Nobody will enter without knocking and then being asked in."

Martin made no objection as Kitty placed the key and pistol near at hand on the nightstand. Both items could easily be included as objects within the room if he were so inclined. Gastin quickly set about positioning her and the shear cloth she held on the bed. He was finally satisfied when she lay propped up on pillows against the headboard, her face turned to the right, her body facing forward and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders, the fiery red strands reaching toward her exposed nipples. The nightgown, draped between her legs, partially covered her pubic area. However, now that it was stretched out as if she were in the act of tossing it aside with her left arm, the light from the lamp more than hinted at what was beneath the shear fabric.

An hour later all natural light had dissipated. Martin began putting his palette, charcoal, paints and brushes away in his case while Kitty watched. She'd only had time to move her arm so the nightgown also covered her breasts and left shoulder when both heard the door handle rattle. Suddenly, instead of the wood of the door the ever so solid flesh of Matt Dillon filled her doorway.

"Kitty, I'm sorry," he blurted out as his face turned red. "I thought this guy was trouble. I reckon I was wrong."

"Yeah, you are!" Kitty practically growled. "I didn't expect you for another hour!"

Martin Gastin sized up the situation. Kitty Russell had arranged a rendezvous following his own session, but he sensed there was more here than that. On this second look he noticed the badge partially hidden by the leather vest the giant of a man with dark brown curly hair and clean-shaven face wore over his heart. It wasn't just Kitty's attempt to keep the local law on her side. By their reactions he could tell this man meant more. Thinking of the unspoken exchange he'd witnessed earlier the fledgling artist intuited the lawman was more than a protector or casual friend. Being a gentleman, Gastin felt it was his obligation to diffuse what could easily become a volatile situation.

"I mean no harm to your friend, Marshal. I simply want to paint her. I may have recently returned from school in Paris but I came of age in St. Louis so I know the attitude the respectable public has toward artists' models, especially those willing to pose in the nude. I also wasn't sure if Miss Russell would find posing more objectionable than allowing certain types of physical relations. After all, the amount of her time I require is far more than the usual liaison," Martin explained as he began to remove the canvas from his easel.

While Gastin spoke Matt moved far enough into the room that he could see the painting, which at this point was hardly more than an initial charcoal sketch. Somehow despite, or maybe because of, the subject matter, he found the picture rather appealing. After all, this artist wasn't the first man who'd seen Kitty naked. Besides, he wasn't using her, not in the way so many of the men she'd known had.

"If Kitty's willing to pose for you, I won't interfere. She's her own woman."

"I've no objections, Matt. Martin can store the unfinished painting here. In fact he can leave everything in this room while the three of us go to supper. I'll lock the door so none of the other girls will disturb or see it."

Over a quiet supper Matt and Kitty learned an appreciation of fine art was part of what Martin's parents shared that led to them falling in love. It was also why they encouraged him to pursue it. He told of his studies and the art scene in Paris. Now he was home and eager to begin a career as a painter. He'd already found a man willing to show his work and help find buyers. Philip Thornwood was associated with the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia.

Matt had finished his evening rounds and was sitting alone in his office with his feet up on his desk when Gastin walked in. He was expected. It's why Chester was in the Long Branch with instructions and enough money to keep Doc busy for at least an hour. Had Kitty, Chester or especially Doc known of his still vague plan Matt was certain he'd never hear the end of it. They'd hurrah him unmercifully.

"I expect Thornwood will either sell Kitty's portrait or display it in the Philadelphia gallery where he works. At least it's far enough away so nobody will know it's her. I could buy it for her to stash away somewhere to make sure nobody in town or anywhere else would see it."

"Is a special occasion coming up?"

"Yeah. Her birthday's a few days away – on the 20th."

"The painting should be finished by then. I agree it would make a special gift. Thornwood is guaranteeing me $50 per painting of the world of the prairie west of the Missouri. Could you match it?"

"I'd find the money," Matt mumbled.

"I sense you don't have enough to spring for two gifts – one of them very private," Martin stated in response to Matt's uncharacteristically less than confident tone. "You also want to give her something she can show off to all her friends, like whatever your town doctor will probably provide. I saw them chatting on the street and as they came into the saloon seeking a table where they could sit with their drinks and continue their conversation. I just might have a solution to your dilemma."

"I'm listenin'."

"It's not only the female form that lends itself to artistic rendering. The same applies to the well-muscled male as well. I'm paying Miss Russell a negotiated fee for her services same as I would with any model. In this case she embodies my vision of a Cow Town Venus. If you allow me to alter the portrait to include your own nude form, I could give you the painting in lieu of payment for your time."

"What!" Matt growled rising quickly from his chair.

"I meant no offense, Marshal!" Gastin rasped out as he stumbled backwards away from the angry giant. "Let me explain! As the painting stands it would only remind her years from now of the beauty and promise that was her youth. With you included she'll gaze upon it with fond nostalgia rather than heartache. I'm certain an intelligent man of the law like yourself could come up with terms that we'd both find acceptable for a painting I'll rename The Cowboy and His Goddess."

Matt hesitated. He didn't allow the intended backhand blow to connect with the artist's face. Instead he waited for his brain to absorb the proposed title and the effect the finished painting would have on Kitty. She'd have something to remember him by when the chanciness of the job caught up with him.

"If Kitty agrees, I'll be in the painting. We'll work out the details after."

The next afternoon at three, Matt and Kitty posed for Martin Gastin's altered idea for his painting. Later that same evening the two men reached an agreement. They signed the bill of sale, storing an additional copy in the safe at the Dodge City Bank beside Matt's current will. In lieu of payment, the painting would belong to Matthew James Dillon or his designated heir from Kathleen Marguerite Russell's 22nd birthday on February 20, 1869 to that same day in 1894, 25 years later. While officially Matt's it would be his birthday gift to Kitty. During the interim, Martin Gastin could authorize Philip Thornwood to display the loaned painting for a set period of time thanks to the largesse of an anonymous donor. If the owner didn't claim it by February 20, 1894, the portrait would belong to Martin Gastin. He could retain the painting or sell it either personally or through Thornwood acting as his agent.

Matt found a small broach for Kitty to pin on her dress at one tenth of the $50 he'd have had to spend on the piece of original art. By the time he presented the piece of jewelry to her at the party with their friends at the Long Branch, he'd already told her the painting was hers. However, whenever she desired to have it nearby, she could only display it where none but her closest friends could see it. She understood the stipulation was for his sake. Earlier, they'd both admired the finished work.

The painting showed Kitty on her bed facing forward, her blue negligee draped from her pubic area then under her left breast, across her left arm that was bent at the elbow, to where she held it lightly between her fingers. That image, with the light from the window and bedside lamp illuminating her, was unchanged from Gastin's original concept. The light struck her nude form so that what lay beneath the strategically draped garment showed through as a semi-revealing shadow. Matt was seen from the rear with his bare form bending slightly forward as if reaching for the flimsy nightgown to toss it aside and the right side of his face turned so his eyes rested on what would be fully revealed when he did. Visible in the foreground, yet not emphasized, were his hat and sidearm, secure in the holster of his gun belt, hanging on the near edge of the chest at the foot of the bed. His clothes, the high-heeled boots with attached spurs most prominent, piled on the floor beneath them.

Epilogue

Martin Gaskin hadn't kept close tabs on the couple from Dodge City whose nude image brought him his first sale. Therefore, he was surprised to receive a telegram and follow up letter requesting the return of The Cowboy and His Goddess. The nude double portrait was by far the best work he'd ever painted or would paint that focused on people rather than the varied landscapes of the towns, train and stage stops, isolated groups of buildings and open country that was the prairie west of the Missouri and east of the Rockies. Still, the painting, under the terms of the bill of sale, was merely on loan from the owner of record for display by Gaskin's agent Philip Thornwood at the Philadelphia gallery with which he was affiliated. Matt Dillon's request had to be honored.

First Martin bought a ticket for the earliest train he could catch heading east to Philadelphia from his home in St. Louis. Then, before boarding, he notified Thornwood of the purpose of his visit. He was sure Philip would be taken aback by his telegram. The painting had hung nearly continuously for the past 22 years in the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Martin found upon arrival that he had to placate his agent.

"You had to know the owner would inevitably claim his property, Thornwood. He took much longer than I thought, but who can fathom those for whom the vast expanse of the prairie is home."

"I thought the terms of the loan were a mere formality. Naturally I assumed with the expiration of the current owner's claim only three years away that I would soon be free to sell what is by far your finest work for top dollar," Philip bemoaned as he arranged for the portrait to be wrapped for shipment halfway across the country.

In the short time he'd spent with him Martin Gastin learned Matt Dillon valued his privacy and the privacy of those few he allowed to become close to him highly. Therefore, he took the wrapped, flat parcel that measured two feet by three feet, with him on the train, first to St. Louis and then on to Dodge City to prevent the slightest chance of arousing enough curiosity to possibly reveal its ownership. Upon arrival in that outpost of semi-civilization he hefted his carpetbag and the painting into his right hand and arm, relegating his artist's tools to his left hand and arm. Somehow, despite being weighted down, he trudged the half-mile to the Dodge House in the heart of town. There he'd make the necessary inquiries.

"Doctor Adams," he called, spotting the now quite elderly looking town doctor he'd met on his last visit. "I'm Martin Gastin, the painter who came through here over 20 years ago."

"Yes, yes, I remember you," the doctor replied upon joining him after securing his buggy. "What brings you back after all these years?"

"Your friend Mr. Dillon sent me a wire. Would you be able to direct me to his current home if he isn't in his office? It is rather late on a Friday afternoon."

"I can not only direct you, I can save you the cost of renting a buggy. I know you'll be welcome at the ranch for Kitty's birthday party and not just because the number of guests may be fewer than planned. From the looks of those clouds and my pain from my rheumatism I'd say we're in for quite a storm."

Gaskin watched from Doc's buggy as they traveled northeast out of town. Plowed fields now occupied much of what had been open prairie. They drove straight down the road until a turnoff to the left. A wooden archway identified it as the lane leading to the Rocking D. A quarter-mile down the path just wide enough to accommodate a farm wagon the doctor pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling house and accompanying outbuildings as the first flakes began to fall.

Matt Dillon, sporting graying temples and a slight limp in his right leg now that he was no longer in his 20s but past 50, opened the door before Doc could knock. Three children, a boy of around 13 with dark brown wavy hair who'd obviously experienced a recent growth spurt, a girl of about ten with fiery red hair that hung below her shoulders and a toddler, sporting the same shade of red hair who despite his height couldn't be more than three, raced to embrace the old man. That charge left Gastin facing Dillon, who took the flat parcel from under Martin's arm before leading him to where the presumed source of two of the children's red hair sat, her belly protruding, in a comfortable arm chair with her feet up on an ottoman.

"Everybody follow us to where this'll hang," Matt said helping Kitty up so she could waddle beside him to head toward the wing of the house on his right. "Nat," he called over his shoulder to the older boy. "Fetch a hammer, nails and wire from the kitchen."

"Yes, Pa."

Matt waited until Kitty, Mrs. Dillon since their wedding in June of '87, settled comfortably as possible in the big brass bed they'd shared since well before their marriage. Only then did he bring the package over to her. The others, their curiosity aroused, had already gathered in the bedroom.

"Honey, I thought it best we reveal what's in this package with only family and the man who brought it about. You'd best explain it to the kids and Doc if we're gonna open it," he added turning red. "Maybe we should leave it wrapped until they're older," he added, clearly having second thoughts.

"I'll explain things, Cowboy. First off, you sent for what's in this package because we finally moved into a real home last month. Secondly, I'll try to save you as much embarrassment as possible when we unwrap this once and future birthday gift."

"You know me too well. At least Quentin and Mrs. Clayborne never saw it in the Philadelphia art gallery where its been hanging or they'd have had one more bit of ammunition when they tried to take Nat and Abby from us," Matt blurted out revealing far more personal information than he normally would in front of a stranger.

"Even if they knew we owned it, Cowboy, they'd have to prove we were the models," she added to his reference to the custody battle for the Baker orphans despite their paternal grandmother Clara's explicit wishes as stated in her will. "I only hope the youngest and oldest in this room understand what led to the contents of this package."

"Many more years ago than Adam can count to, your pa and I began to realize we were a couple," she began relating her tale as if only for the children. "Since it was February, like it is now, we had much more time away from work than we would come May. Martin Gastin, perhaps the only stranger in town, had come from St. Louis to practice what he'd learned in art school. We agreed to pose for a painting that would be a birthday present from your pa to me that only the two of us knew about. Until now it's been, as your father mentioned, on display in Philadelphia where nobody knew us. Before he and I unwrap this portrait to hang on the wall opposite our bed I need to explain what you'll see. Remember the pictures we saw at the Smithsonian and the Corcoran Gallery when we were in Washington for the government to honor your father for serving 25 years as a US Marshal? Some depicted people without clothes, but in a way that made them beautiful," she continued when four heads nodded. "This painting Mr. Gastin named The Cowboy and His Goddess is like that."

While everyone else watched, Matt sat on the bed beside Kitty tearing the wrapping off the painting. He then attached wire to the back of the frame and carried the portrait to where it would hang on the wall, moving it about until Kitty told him the placement was perfect. Matt then asked Martin Gastin to hold it in place while he marked the spot and hammered in a nail. Matt returned to Kitty on the bed to gaze at the painting as Gastin placed the wire over the nail and straightened the picture to oohs and ahs.

"Had you shown this to me back then, it would have been the only time I've looked at your body when I wasn't digging out a bullet or three or stitching up knife wounds," Doc quipped. "Kitty was beautiful then and is even more beautiful now. Pregnancy suits her. All I can say for your body is there are more scars."


End file.
